


Flavor

by tastewithouttalent



Category: ALL OUT!! - Amase Shiori (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Awkwardness, Established Relationship, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-01 07:03:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17862605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "If there’s anything Ise knows to expect when he shows up at Ebumi’s house it’s distraction of one kind or another." Ise is a creature of habit, but Ebumi is always ready to try something new.





	Flavor

Ise whimpers when Ebumi’s lips touch his skin. He doesn’t mean to. He means to press his mouth tight shut, to hold the sound as still against the inside of his chest as if his brother has fallen asleep in the living room and he’s trying not to stir him; as if there’s ever anyone within the silence of Ebumi’s empty house but the two of them, as if whatever sounds they may offer could possibly be loud enough to carry across the distance to the nearest neighboring building several feet distance from the outside wall. But habit lingers longer than Ise ever intends it to, winding into the very core of his existence to spring up in moments of distraction, and if there’s anything he knows to expect when he shows up at Ebumi’s house it’s distraction of one kind or another.

The room around them is littered with proof of this latest indulgence, half-full bottles of soda left at the edge of desk and table and a jacket flung over the back of a chair with total disregard for where it may land. Ebumi produced the sodas out of his pocket as soon as they came in the door of his room, tossing one to Ise with so little warning Ise nearly fumbled his hold and dropped it to the floor. Ebumi had opened his own drink first, cracking open the seal on the lid while Ise was still hesitating over whether he should open his or wait; but they had hardly swallowed a mouthful of liquid apiece before Ebumi had dipped his lashes, and cast his gaze to heat against Ise next to him, and whatever appeal the drinks provided was utterly lost in tasting the sticky-sweet of the flavor clinging to each other’s lips instead of that still remaining in their respective bottles.

Ise still has trouble believing this. It seems an impossibility during the day, when Ebumi is as casual and unselfconscious as ever, and Ise never has energy to spare during the simple relief of physical exertion that comes with rugby practice. But once a week, or twice, Ebumi takes them to turn towards his own home instead of Ise’s on their way back, and if his brother scowls heavier over the dining table the next morning after Ise slips in in the silence of the night, he has yet to say anything, and that is the closest thing to permission Ise thinks he’s likely to get. Even without permission, he thinks he might do this anyway: because in every pleasure he has ever found to ease the hard edges from the life he has always lived, he has never found anything as distracting as the way Ebumi’s mouth fits against his body, or the friction of the other’s lips dragging rough texture down his stomach and towards the hem of his shorts hitched low on his hips. So he lets Ebumi kiss him, his mouth and his neck and the space over the tops of his collarbones, and when Ebumi’s fingers push up at the hem of his shirt to urge it off Ise’s stomach Ise finds himself already clinging to a fistful of Ebumi’s shirt, dragging hard enough to wrench the fabric out-of-shape although Ebumi never voices protest. He just huffs an exhale hard and hot enough to cling sticky to the inside of Ise’s own thoughts, and when he urges up at Ise’s shirt and slides himself down against the floor Ise falls back too, his balance giving itself up to sprawl him flat over the floor of Ebumi’s bedroom while long fingers slide under the hem of his shorts and tug to unfasten the tie of the drawstring holding the waistband in place around his hips.

Ise can’t let himself look. He wants to, he feels the urge tight as a fist in his chest to tip his chin down, to cast his gaze down over Ebumi and watch the motion of the other’s fingers against his clothes, to see the shadow of those endless lashes cast darkness over the sharp angles of the other’s cheekbones. But every time he does he can feel his face burn to embarrassment, as if the heat that is filling his cock so hard with desire is something to be apologized for instead of appreciated, and he always falls back to the floor, squeezing his eyes shut and catching his lip in his teeth as if in attempt to hold back the whimper of want and self-consciousness that threatens freedom. He wants to be quiet, he wants to stay still, to let Ebumi do as he likes, to keep from startling Ebumi out of whatever heat-formed insanity the other has fallen into; but then Ebumi gets Ise’s shorts off his hips, and braces one arm across the other’s stomach, and when his fingers grasp at Ise’s cock to steady the other’s length for the soft press of his lips all Ise can offer in response is a jolt of his hips and a whimper of heat before he claps a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound half-formed.

Ebumi hisses in the back of his throat, although the rough edges of the sound are greatly muffled by the obstruction presently pressing against his lips. The thought of that burns Ise’s cheeks to fire and closes his throat on unbearable self-consciousness, but when Ebumi lifts his head from Ise’s hips it’s only to huff a breath as he looks up at the other. “Hold still, alright?” There’s an edge on his voice -- Ise has never known Ebumi to lack that cutting tone in all the time they’ve known each other -- but Ise knows how to distinguish habitual roughness from sincere temper, and this has nothing at all of the latter in it. Ise ducks his head into a nod without lifting his hand from his mouth, ready to offer immediate agreement even as he doubts his own ability to comply, and Ebumi ducks in over him again to press his lips close against the other’s length and take Ise back into his mouth.

Ise jerks again. He can’t help it, there’s no way he can restrain himself; the convulsive motion of his legs is as much a reflex as the groan in the back of his throat, the sound loud enough to echo embarrassingly in his own awareness no matter how tightly he presses his palm over his lips. But Ebumi doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop as Ise was afraid he might, and if he growls in the back of his throat it’s only a shudder of heat running up Ise’s spine before Ebumi lets his bracing grip at his cock go so he can shove against the inside of Ise’s knee instead and cant his legs wider from the tension reflex has forced into them. Ise moves in obedience to the urging, utterly willing to comply to anything Ebumi wants of him so long as that wet heat remains around him, and Ebumi braces a hand at the top of his knee to pin the hem of Ise’s shorts tight to the other’s skin before he shifts his head and starts to move over him.

It’s too much. Even with no experience but what he and Ebumi have fumbled themselves into with each other Ise can feel that at once, can feel the sudden knot of pressure fix itself down in his belly as soon as Ebumi starts moving, as if to demand the full force of his orgasm from him almost before he knows to think of it. His legs shudder with reflexive force, tightening to press hard against Ebumi’s grip and the angle of the other’s shoulder between his knees, but Ebumi just presses harder with the arm he has slanting across Ise’s belly over the top of his own head and keeps going with determined speed. Ise’s mouth is open, his throat is working, his whole body is trembling under Ebumi’s action; but when he reaches out to attempt something like protest his fingers drag soft into Ebumi’s hair, wandering into something closer to affection than the resistance he had thought he intended.

His body is straining as if he’s sprinting to the limit of his endurance, his lungs emptying themselves to gasps as if his dizzy thoughts are slipping away from his hold, but Ebumi isn’t hesitating or slowing, he’s just continuing on with that too-much force, and something in Ise is coming free of his restraint, working itself loose of the white-knuckled grip he usually sustains on it. His hands are trembling, his fingers shivering in Ebumi’s hair and his palm shaking at his mouth; he can’t keep his breathing stifled under the weight of his hold, not with his whole chest flexing on the dragging air he’s pulling into himself. His hand falls loose of his lips, the weight of his arm drags itself down to sprawl over the floor over his head, and when he reaches out his fingers find the minor resistance of Ebumi’s dropped bag and press up and against it like he’s trying to hold himself in place against the weight.

“Ebucchi,” Ise hears himself say, his voice breaking open into something so distinct from his usual range that he doesn’t even feel embarrassment at the heat on it, as if he’s hearing the soundtrack to one of the DVDs Ebumi sometimes lays hand to instead of the vibration of sound spilling up from his own chest. His upraised arm strains, his fingers flex to push against Ebumi’s bag sliding across the floor under his urging; Ise can hear the pant of his breathing as he draws it, can taste the strain of effort on the back of his tongue. “Ebucchi.” He doesn’t know what he wants, if he means the other’s name as plea or encouragement or just a fixed point to hold himself to where he is, to make this reality instead of a fantasy enough to scatter all the disjoint parts of himself, and when Ebumi tips his head to take Ise all the way back across his tongue Ise’s lashes dip over his fast-hazing vision and even that one word slides free of his hold to disintegrate into a helpless moan instead.

Ebumi’s fingers tighten at his side, blunt nails digging in to find traction against Ise’s trembling stomach to brace the other still, and Ise sobs a breath as Ebumi moves over him to urge him on to yet more. His legs are shaking, his breath is catching, his thoughts are distant and hazy as if heat is steaming the inside of his brain as much as it clouds his breath, and then Ebumi tightens his lips and sucks against Ise’s cock, and Ise jerks and shouts, the sound loud enough to startle him if he weren’t in the midst of tensing the whole of his body against the breaking wave of orgasm. His legs flex, muscle rising and straining against Ebumi’s weight tipping in to hold him down, his cock twitches hard against the slick heat of Ebumi’s tongue on him, and Ise’s eyes roll up, his vision giving way along with the whole of his coherency for the span of the shuddering orgasm that breaks over him to strip away every fragment of tension he bears within his body. Ebumi keeps moving over him, sucking hard like he means to drain Ise of all the heat in him by main force, and Ise gives up everything he has, until all he can do is tremble against Ebumi’s floor without even the strength to lift his head to look at the other leaning over him.

Ise shivers as Ebumi draws back. Ebumi is determined in his motion, as unhesitating in his retreat as he was in his approach, but Ise feels every part of the other’s movement spike through him like an electrical shock to drag reflexive response out of him. It’s only as his cock slides free of Ebumi’s lips that Ise can manage to drag an inhale as much relief as anything else, and Ebumi is moving well before Ise can think to do so, pushing to rock up and lean in over the other while Ise is still staring dizzily at the ceiling over him. Ebumi leans into his vision, his hair tangled by Ise’s fingers and his lashes angling to make a confrontation of his gaze, but when Ise blinks at him Ebumi’s mouth catches and pulls towards a grin that flashes his teeth to sharp amusement as he considers the other.

“How’s that?” he asks. “Good, yeah?”

Ise presses his lips together and ducks his head. There’s something of embarrassment starting in him again, reclaiming its usual position in his thoughts alongside the perpetual force of anxiety, but he’s too heavy with heat to manage much reaction to it besides the color he can feel staining his cheeks. “Yeah,” he says, and feels his face glow hotter at the sound of his voice, weird and rasping before he can clear his throat and force it back to something more ordinary. “It was good.”

“You liked it?” Ebumi presses, without giving Ise so much as a moment to duck away from the razor-sharp focus of the other’s eyes.

Ise’s throat tightens, his cheeks burn. He tips his head to look aside, to cast his gaze towards the line of Ebumi’s arm bracing the other up over him; it’s not a huge improvement, but it’s better than the outright impossibility of meeting the attention of those eyes reading every part of his overheated response clear on his face. He dips his chin towards a nod again. “Yeah,” he says, and swallows hard before he can manage the next. “I...I liked it.”

Ebumi’s grin is so bright that Ise can see it even with his head turned, the sound of his laugh purring with such warmth that it lures Ise’s attention back up to the other’s face, even if he casts his gaze through his lashes to gain what minimal cover the angle may offer. “Good,” Ebumi says, sounding as self-satisfied as if Ise’s confirmation is an admission of his own skill and ability on this subject. “I knew you would.”

“Did you like it?” Ise blurts. “I mean. It had to be…” He glances down, the action too much a reflex for him to stop it before he’s seen the line of his shorts dragged down off the softening heat of his spent cock. His gaze jumps up at once but his cheeks are already burning to fire, the heat of it is spreading until he thinks it must be glowing underneath the whole of his skin. “Didn’t it taste weird?”

Ebumi’s teeth flash on another smile. “Kind of,” he admits, and presses his lips together as his forehead creases on consideration.

Ise’s entire face comes alight. “Never mind,” he says. “Forget it, forget I asked.”

“Kind of,” Ebumi says again, with no indication that he listened to anything Ise said, but his frown is more that of deep thought than disgust, however much Ise can feel embarrassment rising like a tide in him. The corners of Ebumi’s eyes crease like he’s squinting in thought, his mouth draws taut on a frown. “It tastes...kinda sweet, actually.”

Ise lifts his hand to press over his face, although there’s no hope at all of hiding any part of his expression. “You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not,” Ebumi says, sounding deeply amused. “I’m serious. Totally.” He shifts over Ise, his hand closes at Ise’s wrist to draw the shadow away from the other’s features. “Here, I’ll show you.”

Ise yelps and makes a half-hearted attempt to struggle free. “Cut it out, Ebucchi, don’t--” but when Ebumi’s mouth finds his even his attempts at breaking free give way, and he can’t resist the persuasion of Ebumi’s tongue urging against the part of his lips. Ebumi licks in against his tongue to press heat far back against Ise’s mouth, and when he pulls back Ise can hear the catch of the other’s breathing as clearly as his own. He presses his mouth shut, feeling heat cresting in a renewed wave over his features as embarrassment returns from his brief distraction; and then his forehead creases and he blinks in surprise. “Sweet.”

“See?” Ebumi asks, his lips tugging onto a lopsided grin. “Not awful, anyway.” He ducks forward to kiss at Ise’s lips once more, a quick peck this time instead of anything more involved, and when he draws back his smile is still working against the corner of his lips. “Wanna see if mine’s any different?”

Ise’s face burns brilliant, his throat closes off entirely on the weight of his embarrassment; but when he ducks his head Ebumi laughs in understanding, and when Ebumi tips sideways to fall to the floor Ise moves as quickly to follow the other in and invert their positions. He does pause to drag his shorts back up over his hips, and to swallow to brace himself before he reaches for the loose hem of Ebumi’s shirt riding up around the other’s waist, but Ebumi’s skin is warm to the touch, and even with Ise’s fingers trembling on uncertainty Ebumi groans and falls into slack surrender to the touch of his hand as soon as Ise makes contact.

Everything tastes sweeter when Ebumi is with him.


End file.
